


Expectations of a Marriage

by baegin_ae



Category: Emma - Jane Austen
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, F/M, but no actual sex occurs, internal monologue resigning oneself to unwanted sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-17 06:53:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20616806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baegin_ae/pseuds/baegin_ae
Summary: As Emma's wedding to Mr. Knightly approaches, she realizes there is an aspect of married life she failed to account for when accepting his proposal.





	Expectations of a Marriage

When Mrs. Weston first explained to her the events that usually accompanied a wedding night, Emma believed she was being pranked. After many assurances that this was not the case, she began to feel greatly disturbed. “It’s really nothing to worry about Emma,” Mrs. Weston said placatingly. “In fact it’s quite a wonderful experience.” She blushed and looked away. Emma stared over her shoulder, letting Mrs. Weston continue on with her embarrassed explanations while she lost herself in her head.

It had seemed like such a sensible idea at first, marrying Mr. Knightly. After all, she obviously loved the man. It was just that now that the event was drawing closer, now that all possible danger of Knightly leaving her for someone else was past, she questioned why they had to get married at all. Certainly she could see the advantages: having Knightly living with her in her home, always sharing the intimate details of their lives with each other, spending the majority of their time together and devoting their affections to the other’s happiness. It was the other trappings of marriage that were beginning to give her pause on the eve before her wedding, and this idea of bearing children had become her chief concern.

She certainly wasn’t opposed to children. She absolutely doted on her nieces and nephews and she would not mind having children of her own to add to the family. But children weren’t necessary to her happiness, not ultimately, and after her talk with Mrs. Weston, she found herself desperate to avoid any situation where they might come up. 

The most intimate she and Knightly had been was shortly after they first engaged their affections to each other. They had been talking in the garden, well away from her father’s nervous eye, when a calm silence had fallen over them. It hadn’t felt awkward or strained, like so many silences in company did, but was rather a comfortable moment. Emma had been looking at Knightly while he told her a story about one of the farmers on his land and when he trailed off she took the moment to study his face in repose, to absorb the features of her dearest friend. Then, slowly, Knightly had leaned into her, and it was only when she felt his breath over her lips that she realized he meant to kiss her. She had felt shocked, and then surprise at her shock; after all, wasn’t it reasonable to assume that Knightly would want to kiss her now? Only she had not really thought about it before that moment, and so she was wholly unprepared as his lips moved gently onto her own and pressed in.

She had not known what to do, having never kissed anyone before. Did she move her lips? Did she press back? Did she turn into it? Frustratingly, the romances and epics she had read rather skipped over this part of the narrative. And the kisses she had seen stolen by lovers in town seemed to involve quite a bit of sucking and tongue which seemed altogether distasteful to her. She wound up doing nothing, standing there with her eyes blurrily trying to focus on his face while his lips slid softly over her own. After only a brief moment, he pulled away, moving his face back far enough that she could see his eyes again. Still trying to decide whether she had enjoyed the kiss or not, Emma had smiled at him. Knightly had given her a look she could not place, not moving right away, before he had smiled too and pulled back, tucking her hand into his arm and resuming their earlier walk and conversation.

Later that day, after Knightly had left, Emma decided that she hadn’t minded kissing so much. It wasn’t the sweeping, world-changing moment she had been led to believe it would be, nor was it the disgusting practice she had feared it might become. And after all, after the last year, Emma had learned better than to trust in everything she thought she knew about romance.

Still, while she had resigned herself to kissing, Knightly had never made another attempt after that day. Their intimacies remained as they always had: holding hands, sitting close on the couch, resting her head on his shoulder. And Emma was content with the status quo. Somehow she had not imagined things progressing any further than this, and now, being presented with the idea of what was expected of her as a bride, Emma almost found herself wishing she were not marrying Mr. Knightly after all. It was only the memory of how it had felt when she thought him engaged to another that stopped her from rushing to her father and begging him to stop the wedding.

She knew she loved Knightly. She could not imagine a life without him, could not bear the thought of seeing him devoted to another woman. If the only way to have him was to do as Mrs. Weston said, she would simply have to bear with it. It could not be as terrible as it seemed at first. After all, countless women were married, and perfectly happily too. Perhaps she simply felt uncomfortable because it was a new experience. Perhaps, in the moment, she would not feel the crushing panic that threatened to stop her breathing as she thought about it that night, bundled under her blankets and thinking of all the reasons she truly did want to marry Knightly.

She resolved to stop thinking about it.

Her wedding day passed in moments of bliss. It was a joy to see her friends and family gathered together, all looking so happy for her. The warmth and happiness in Mr. Knightly’s eyes threatened to make her heart explode with warm feelings. When Mr. Elton pronounced them man and wife, she felt a thrill go through her at the words. Something inside of her felt settled, right, this confirmation of her claim to Knightly and his claim to her. She wasn’t surprised this time when the kiss came, and it was as sweet and gentle as the last, a quick warm pressure against her lips, but nothing more.

The festivities afterwards were full of laughter and conversation, and she even managed to sneak a piece of cake while Knightly distracted her father for her. Both Mrs. Weston and Isabella cried, embracing her tenderly, and she received too many congratulations to count. As the day wore to evening, the well-wishers trickled away until only she, her father, and Mr. Knightly remained sitting around the fireplace and enjoying a few moments of silence. Eventually, her father kissed the top of her head and with a mournful sigh retired to his room.

Left alone with Knightly for the first time as his wife, Emma felt panic once again stealing her breath. She could not bring herself to look at him, though she could feel his gaze upon her. She read the same paragraph of her book over and over, listening to the clock tick away and waiting with a sick stomach for the inevitable. When Knightly finally rose, her body went stiff, and she could not stop herself from flinching slightly when he put his hand upon her shoulder. His voice was quiet when he asked, “Will you come to bed Emma? It’s getting late.” 

She knew what she should do: close her book and follow her husband upstairs, let him take her to bed and whatever came after that as well. Instead she said, “I just want to finish this last chapter, I’ll only be a moment,” and flipped the page of swimming, incomprehensible words without looking up.

Knightly gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Alright. Don’t stay up too much longer.” He bent down and kissed the top of her head, much like her father had, and left the room. The gesture felt like a drop of warmth in her chest where her fear was threatening to strangle her. She held onto the feeling as she stared, unseeing, at her book, willing herself to take deep, slow breaths. She knew she couldn’t sit here forever. Knightly would come looking for her eventually and it was better to face her future head on than be confronted by it unprepared. She thought about the kiss again, how sweet and gentle Knightly always was with her. Knightly loved her. She could do this. She had to. With her nerves settled to a bearable buzz and this rallying cry in her head, she jumped to her feet, slamming her book closed and onto the table. Without giving herself a moment to think, she rushed upstairs to her dressing room, letting her maid help her out of her evening wear and into her nightclothes. She almost hesitated at the door to her bedchamber, but with all the strength of will she had, she confidently grasped the knob, opened the door, and strode in.

Knightly had left a lamp burning on the bedside table. He was ensconced under the covers up to his chin. It was so unlike the sight Emma had expected to see that her steps faltered and she found herself paused at the edge of the bed, waiting on the threshold, unsure how to proceed. He smiled up at her, a familiar teasing smirk, “Finished improving yourself, then?”

The ordinariness of the quip gave Emma her footing back, and she rolled her eyes as she lifted the covers and slid into the bed. “I hope I shall never be finished improving myself.” Knightly chuckled as she settled into the bed. They were not touching under the covers. She lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling, waiting, while he leaned out of the bed to blow out the light. In the darkness, she felt him settle back beside her, still not moving any closer.

“Goodnight dear Emma,” his voice reached out. She grasped upon it.

“Goodnight my Knightly,” she responded.

There was silence.

Emma continued to wait, heart beating heavily and muscles tense for the moment when he would move, would reach his hands towards her, would pull her into an embrace. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she dared to turn her head and look at him. His eyes were closed, face peaceful. She watched the way the sheets moved with each breath he took. After an indeterminate time, she heard the slight sound of snoring coming from the pillow beside her. He was asleep.

Emma’s entire body went limp as relief flooded her. Asleep. Perhaps the day had been too much for him. All those people he had to speak to, shake hands with, it had exhausted him. She shifted onto her side the way she usually slept and allowed her eyes to close. For this night at least, she had no worries.

Life moved on as it always did. Being married, Emma discovered, was not unlike being unmarried. She still visited with friends and walked the village during the day. She still cared for her father and ate meals with him. She still talked and laughed with Knightly with a smile on her face. The only difference was falling asleep and waking up next to Knightly each day. In fact, it had been over a week, and yet every night while she steeled herself for his touch, Knightly simply closed his eyes and fell asleep beside her without so much as a hint for more. He had not even attempted to kiss her after their brief moment in the church. He still held her hands as they walked, sat close to her in the evenings, dropped kisses on her head when he left, but he had made no overtures of a more intimate nature towards her.

Emma began to worry. As relieved as she was when each night passed without incident, she could not get Mrs. Weston’s words out of her head, the descriptions of the consummation of a marriage, the physical representation of their bond, the highest expression of love there was. It made her feel as though she was doing something wrong, never matter that she never wanted it in the first place. She feared that somehow she was failing Knightly as his wife by not encouraging these attentions.

When a week of marriage came and went, Emma decided that things could not go on as they were. She could not spend every night waiting fruitlessly in dread for the moment to come. She excused herself that night earlier even than her father, claiming tiredness after a vigorous walk in the morning. After dressing, she waited in their bedroom, sitting on the edge of their bed with the lights all burning brightly. She heard when Knightly came up to change, heard him speaking with his valet as he prepared for bed. She had to concentrate to keep her hands from shaking on her knees.

He was obviously surprised to see her still awake, stopping in the doorway and looking at her with wide eyes.

“Why have you not taken me to bed yet?” Bluntness, Emma found, usually worked best in situations like this. If she prevaricated, if she simpered, she might not get a straight answer from him. Despite the embarrassment flooding her cheeks, she squared her jaw and looked at him.

Knightly blinked rapidly for a moment, than closed the door behind him and stepped into the room. He came and sat beside her on the bed, but left enough space between them so that they were not touching, for which Emma was quietly grateful. She watched his face as he looked at her, his gaze flicking over her features before settling on her eyes again.

“Do you want me to?”

For a moment, Emma contemplated saying yes, of course, I love you. But she did not want to begin her marriage with lies. She kept her gaze steady in his, “No.”

Knightly breathed out, a small laugh. “Then why would I take you to bed?”

It was Emma’s turn to blink. She had not been prepared for this response. She had been prepared for coaxing, for pleading, for giving in. She found herself arguing his part for him. “Because you are my husband and it is your right.”

He looked away, shaking his head slightly. Emma continued to watch him, waiting for sense to come back to him. Finally, still looking at the wall, he asked, “Emma did you enjoy kissing me?” 

“Kissing you?” She could not keep the surprise from her voice. Knightly didn’t respond. “I didn’t find it unpleasant.”

“But did you enjoy it?” 

Exasperated, Emma got up and began pacing in front of him. “I don’t know. I don’t know! It was fine, I didn’t mind it.” She tried to breath, to calm herself down. Sneaking a look at Knightly’s face, he looked open, understanding and not accusatory. It gave her the reassurance she needed to stop and think before continuing. “It wasn’t what I expected it would be. It was…simpler. I didn’t think I would like it, but I didn’t mind the way you did it.” She placed herself in front of him. “But you haven’t done it again.” 

“My dear Emma. Do you know what struck me after I first kissed you? How utterly bewildered you looked. I could see, even then, that it had not meant the same to you as it did to me. And so I resolved to wait. If you had wanted to kiss me again, I was sure you would. But you never did. You never even presented an opportunity for it to happen again.” He reached his hands out towards her and almost instinctively Emma took them in her own, making him smile. “I observed you more closely. I noticed the kinds of touches you seemed to enjoy and the ones that made you stiff or uncomfortable. I adjusted my actions accordingly.”

“But why?” she couldn’t help from bursting out. “What was the use in marrying me if you knew I would never give you what you wanted?” 

Slowly, Knightly reached out to cup her cheek, eyes tender. “Because I love you Emma. I love _you_, I want _you_, not the trappings of marriage. I am perfectly content with whatever you choose to give me.” It was suddenly too much for Emma. As tears began to fall, she threw herself into Knightly’s arms. He held her while she cried, stroking her back and kissing the side of her head every now and again. 

When she was finally able to compose herself, she pulled her head from his shoulder, resting her forehead against his. “I do love you, Knightly.”

His smile eased the last of the tension from her chest. “That is all I ask for Emma.” 

That night, for the first time since her marriage, Emma was able to comfortably lay down to sleep, feeling security instead of dread from the warmth of her husband next to her. When she leaned in and gave Knightly a peck on the lips the next morning over breakfast, the surprised delight on his face was enough to ignite a star inside her breast and Emma knew that everything would be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> I personally headcanon Emma as aro-ace, but this fic can also work as a romantic-ace story.


End file.
